


Aware

by Anonymous



Category: Monty Python RPF, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), Monty Python's Flying Circus
Genre: Background Relationships, Boys In Love, Comedy Sketches, Cute, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Graham Chapman/John Cleese - Freeform, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, M/M, Massages, RPF, Smol Michael Palin, Smut, Terry Jones/Terry Gilliam - Freeform, There's A Tag For That, Wall Sex, almost car sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-09 09:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Michael Palin has a bad habit of becoming incredibly aware of exactly what it is that he's doing at exactly the wrong times. Sometimes he'll be awake finishing a sketch, and he will become aware of that fact that he, -- Michael Palin, -- is awake at three in the morning, his knee is bouncing uncontrollably and his handwriting is awful because of exactly how much caffeine he's had, and that there are ink smudges on his wrists too. And whenever he has these moments, he usually follows them by thinking to himself, "Well. Exactly how did I get here, again?"As I mentioned before, these moments of awareness come very unfortunately, at incredibly inopportune times. And that's exactly how Michael Palin, -- panting, flushed, sweating, -- looks down at Eric Idle who is very intently bruising the brunette's collarbone with bites and licks, and is suddenly very aware of how incredibly hot it is in this room, and how sweat is beading on his forehead, back, and legs, and how his hair is stuck to his forehead in damp curls. And pondering this revelation and appreciating how incredibly attractive the redhead pressing him against the bed is, Michael Palin rolls his head back and thinks, "Well. Exactly how did I get here, again?"





	1. Sleepy

**Author's Note:**

> I'd posted this before and then I was like "I should go against all of my previous morals and rules and write smut for this" but then I thought "hold up my friends follow my acc so ahahahahaha maybe not" so I've decided to take it down and do it again, but this time I'm just gonna post anonymously so that I don't have to deal with that but I can still check in on it and stuffs. Is that how this works? I think it is... Anyway. If you're seeing this for the second time, hi. Please be as nice as you were last time? I love you guys!!

Michael Palin sat at his kitchen table, rubbing his hand over his face. Oh, fuck. He let out a low groan, furrowing his brows and squeezing his eyes shut. He blinked his eyes open just barely, and looked over to the clock on the microwave. Jesus Christmas almighty, three in the fucking morning. Michael stretched like a cat, leaning over the table and resting his head on his arms for second. He knew that if he shut his eyes, he wouldn't be able to pry them back open, so he sat back up, yawned, and swallowed as much of his bitter coffee as he could in one swig. He smacked his lips, and spun his pen around. "God, how many ways can I possibly call a parrot dead?" he whined, hopefully quiet enough not to wake up Eric or Cleesey.

He had been feeling rather useless lately, and just wanted to pull one really good sketch out for their script-writing tomorrow. He always managed to make his fellow Python's laugh in conversation, but he never really was one for writing long and funny sketches all by himself. Of course, he did remember quite well telling his five friends the story of how he'd taken his car to the shop without a working display system or brake, but the mechanic refused to admit or believe that anything was wrong with his car. All of the Python's burst out laughing as Mike recounted the event, especially Eric. Eric was practically crying, he was laughing so hard. Michael loved seeing him laugh, the way his eyes filled with sparkles and crinkled at the edges, and he had an adorable open-mouthed smile that Mike just loved.

Michael wiped the corner of his mouth with his off hand and set back to writing. He chuckled lightly at his own joke. "Beautiful plumage," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. He out his pen back to the page, but completely forgot what he was going to write as the ink touched the paper. Blue ink slowly ran from the tip of his pen, punctuating his rather nice calligraphy-scribble handwriting with a blotch of ink bleeding through the page of his notebook. It took him a few seconds to notice, but he jerked his hand away from the paper and dropped his pen. "Oh, fuck," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lights danced in his eyes, and he shook his head to try and avoid what Gray usually called an 'existential crisis.' He blinked, and suddenly became incredibly aware of exactly who he was and what was going on in this moment. Oh, not this again.

His knee was bouncing uncontrollably, maybe stress, maybe the need to keep something moving or he might pass out. The chair made little creaky noises with each rise and fall of his leg, and his breath was uneven and shallow, but not in an exercise way, -- it was like his lungs were stuttering. There was a little bit of rough pain at the back of his tongue and throat, probably from accidentally scalding himself on his coffee. His handwriting had been getting progressively sloppier, due to the dark and the way his hands were shaking, probably also the coffee's fault. His eyelids were incredibly heavy, and he placed his elbows on the table and leaned his forehead on the backs of palms, shutting his eyes for just a second. And in that second he became aware of his head falling through the spot between his hands, but was too tired to react before his banged his forehead hard on the table. In that moment, he became aware of a hand in his hair and another on his jaw.

"Christ, Mikey, you okay there?" Eric Idle asked, pulling the brunette's head off the table, and worriedly gazing at him. He looked like hell, and Eric had no idea why he was awake this late, until his eyes fell upon the sketches on the table. Michael hummed, but not in a way that signified anything other than 'I'm too tired to understand what you said or how to respond to it,' which basically told Eric that Palin needed sleep **now**.

"No," Michael eventually summoned the word, his voice rough and scratchy, and he leaned heavily into the ginger behind him. He sighed as Eric moved the hand on his jaw down to his shoulder, gently massaging the boy's scalp with his other hand.

"Why are you awake this late?" Eric asked, voice soft. He didn't want to startle Palin out of his sleepy state.

"The, um..." Michael waved a passive hand. "You know how I told you about my car, right?" he prompted sleepily, very aware of how warm the redhead was. He hummed softly as he pressed himself against Eric's warm chest.

"Well, yes," Eric carded his hands through Michael's curly hair, trying to keep that man relaxed, but a slight panic thrumming through him. He'd been in love with Michael for... for years. For forever.

"I thought it would be funny if we did a sketch about it, because it made you laugh, but," he yawned. "Well, I might just give the idea to Gray and Cleesey, actually, I don't think it's that funny the way I did it," he admitted, pawing blindly at the table until he crumbled one of the papers up.

"There's another sketch there," Idle observed, cocking a brow as Michael turned around in his chair and pulled him into a close hold, nuzzling his face tiredly into Eric's warm chest.

"Yeah. You know how Gray made that little joke about the Spanish Inquisition the other day?" he didn't wait for a response, just kept mumbling into Eric's torso. "I thought it was rather funny enough to... make a sketch out of it, so if someone were to say they didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition, the Spanish Inquisition would appear saying that no one ever expects them and torture random people ineffectively on the charge of uh, heresy," he purred and relaxed into Eric even more. "I don't know, I thought it was funny,"

"It does sound quite funny, yes, but you need to go to sleep," Eric explained, removing his hands from Michael's curls and scooping up the smaller man. Mike yawned and draped himself over Eric's shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.

"You're so warm," he mumbled, trying to press his face further into Idle's neck.

"Well, I was sleeping under a very fluffy duvet not too long ago," he whispered, trying not to wake John as he carried Michael past Cleese's bedroom, "and you know that I enjoy fluffy blankets and such. It's comfy. I don't understand your... quilts and thin sheets. Thick duvets are the way to go, I say," he ranted, mostly nonsensical conversation to keep Palin relaxed and in a drowsy state.

"Can I..." Michael moved one hand up into Eric's hair, playing with his reddish curls mindlessly. "Ooh, I think I forgot what I was about to say," he admitted, words slurring together.

"That's alright, don't worry," Eric hushed the smallest Python, carrying him to Michael's room.

"Oh no, I'm remembering," Mike started, tracing lazy patterns into Eric's shoulder. "Oh, yeah. Your fluffy blankets sound... uh, quite nice, are you willing to share with me?" he yawned, tightening his grip on the redhead, much like a koala. Eric loved koalas, and he could possibly say no to the nicest Python.

"Sounds lovely, yes, maybe I can... convert you to warm and soft blankets," Eric chuckled softly, turning into his own room instead, and gently laying his brunette koala down onto his soft mattress where the covers were peeled back.

"Oh, this is lovely," Michael hummed, nuzzling into the soft bed.

"Yes, well, I am not letting you sleep in denim and a dress shirt," Eric huffed, hands on his hips.

"But Eric, I'm so sleepy," Palin whined, burying his face in Idle's comforter. "Wow, that is quite nice," he admitted, voice muffled by the soft material.

"You want warm things, do you have a nice pair of flannel pants I can grab?" Michael hummed a negative sound into the covers. "You blasphemous heretic," Eric grumbled, going over to his own dresser and pulling out one of his fluffier pairs of sweatpants, tossing them onto Michael's head. Michael hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't move. "Oh my god, I'm not dressing you," Eric complained. Michael remained completely still. "God, I hate you," Eric complained, gently rolling the smaller man onto his back. Michael made a mild noise of protest, but blinked his eyes open just enough to smile slightly at Eric.

Idle swallowed the last bit of dignity he had for those twinkly, half-open eyes, and carefully started unbuttoning Michael's shirt. He hummed softly as he worked Michael out of his clothes, a lullaby he thinks his dad used to sing, but he doesn't remember the words to it anymore, just the tune. He couldn't help but run his tongue over his bottom lip as his eyes scanned the lean, tan, rather attractive thing that was Michael Palin's bare chest. He tried even less to think about what he was doing as his fingers glided down Michael's soft, freckled, and perfect skin, and rested on the waist of his tight jeans. He bit down on his lip as he carefully maneuvered his thumbs to pop the button of Mike's pants.

"Ah," Michael made a soft little noise as Eric pulled him out of the confines of the restricting denim, which the ginger actively pretended he could not hear.

"Hey, shh shh shh, relax," Idle cooed, trading the uncomfortable jeans for a pair of his own pants, -- which were far too long for his little Mikey, -- which Michael snuggled into extremely happily. He looked really cute and cozy, it melted Eric's heart.

"Eric, 's your bed, get in it," Michael whined, patting the spot next to him. Idle didn't need to be told twice, he clambered into bed beside Palin, and pulled his warm blankets over the both of them. Mike made a happy noise and snuggled back into Eric.

"Goodnight, Mikey," Eric muttered into Palin's hair, already tired again.

"'Night, Eric," Michael sighed, sleepily aware of Eric arms sliding tenderly and tentatively across his sides and over his stomach, calloused hands brushing against his smooth skin. Warm, warm, everything was incredibly warm, and Michael was almost too aware of how absolutely tranquil this moment was, and how absolutely **lovely **Eric smelled. There was no specific thing that he smelled like, it was just **Eric**, and it made Palin feel very safe and cozy. Idle's hand twitched against Michael's skin before resting again, and Michael hummed softly as he closed his eyes. He was very aware of how... oddly happy he was in this position, and thought to himself a bit before he passed out to answer the question as he dreamt.

_Well, Michael, how exactly did you get here anyway?_


	2. Realize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step closer to the Ultimate Sin. I hate myself so damn much.

"Oh, I quite like that idea!" Cleese exclaimed, eyes widening as he looked at Gray exitedly.

"Yes, seems quite silly," Gray agreed, smiling to himself. "Very silly, yes!" he rushed off the grab a pen and paper, John following behind him the two already chattering away about ideas.

"See, Mikey? Told you they'd like it," Eric mumbled, sidling up behind Michael and massaging the brunette's shoulders. Palin let out a grateful noise, bowing his head as he smiled dizzily.

"Mmm, yes, thank you, on multiple accounts," the youngest Python groaned softly, very much needing to loosen up. "Also where did you buy your blankets? They're lovely, and I might steal your flannel trousers more often, I need some fluffy things in my life," he explained, purring happily as Idle continued to dig his thumbs into his wound up muscles.

"Christmas is coming up, ain't it?" Idle chuckled, sliding his hands further down Palin's back, who yelped softly before humming brightly as Eric made him feel just a little bit better. A lot better. Very, very much better.

"It is, but-- oh, Eric," Michael keened as the kneaded pushed into a particularly unhappy muscle. It was an absolutely blasphemous sound, and Idle had to actively remind himself that biting the junction between Palin's neck and shoulder was an awful idea in a room with every member of Monty Python, including Gilliam. But, oh, the spot was so **tempting**. It was brilliantly exposed and he'd looooove to just sink his teeth into it and wrench another happy cry from his Mikey. But alas, Michael would probably never speak to him again, Cleesey and Jonesy would ridicule him until the day he died, Gray would come onto him harder than usually, -- probably bite Eric's neck, -- and Gilliam would either sit in stunned silence or ask what the fuck went on when he was still home in America.

"But what, love?" Eric prompted, the endearment falling from his lips before he could second-guess it. He bit his lip and crossed his legs as Michael made a little whiny noise in the back of throat.

"I didn't finish my Spanish Inquisition sk- ahh!" he yelped, arching his back away from Eric, who didn't stop. "sketch, um, my Spanish Inquisition sketch. Oh, fuuuck, Eric, right there," he moaned, squirming around a bit. Eric smiled slightly, enjoying the little gasps Michael made, -- almost too much, -- and the blissful expression in Mikey's face. He relaxed suddenly and substantially, and Eric figured his back was pretty okay. Idle rubbed the small of Michael's back gently, before humming in thought.

"Well, show me what you have, and we'll finish it while Gray and John start a war over there," Eric suggested, grabbing Michael around the waist and pulling him into another room, seating them both at a coffee table.

"Alright," Michael pulled a notepad out of his pocket and flipped to a page stapled in, titled, _Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!!_, which made Eric chuckle outright. Palin chewed his thumb worriedly as Eric scanned the sketch. Slowly, a grin stretched across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners and stars appearing in his pupils. Soft laughter escaped his mouth from time to time, and he bit his tongue between his teeth to stifle a particularly good laugh.

"Why," Eric laughed, pulling a pen out of his breast pocket, "that's rather funny! Did you know where you wanted to go with it, or are you stuck?" he asked, holding the pen out to Michael.

"I have a pretty good idea, I do believe, it just involves the lot of you not having proper endings to your sketches, or Gray letting me write nearly an entire episode, which... unlikely," he sighed, biting the tip of Eric's pen slightly.

"Well, if it were up to me, I'd let you write a whole episode," Eric chuckled, passing Mike his notebook back.

"Thank you, but you know that's not much help," Michael sighed, scribbling out more ideas for his sketch. Eric watched intently as Palin filled out the rest of the sketch, biting his tongue gently in thought. "Here, Jonesy and I wrote a song, sketch, thing and I want you to read it before I hand my brainchild to Gray," Mike joked, flipping to a different page titled _The Lumberjack Song!!_, and Eric smiled slightly as he found the continual use of exclamation points rather cute.

"You have a tune in min- oh, never mind, I see the notes," Idle cut himself off, humming the tune a little bit, soft hums punctuated and interrupted by laughter from time to time. Michael grinned brightly as Eric laughed particularly hard, leaning on Palin's shoulder for a little balance. "Oh, that's brilliant, I love that," Eric wheezed, stars in his eyes as he turned the paper back to Mike.

"You... you really think so?" Michael asked excitedly. He loved making Eric laugh, and he **loved **getting the redhead's approval.

"Why, yes of course! Quite genius, Mikey! Ooh, what if we-" Eric began excitedly, but Gray's loud shouting cut him off.

"Now, ducklings!" he yelled, grinning dumbly like he did when he wasn't being serious for the sake of it. "Gather 'round, it is time to be silly! I was on time today, -- just ask Johnny, -- and so therefore I'm feeling pretty good!" Gray's voice was always so loud, loud, and Michael laughed softly, dragging Eric with him to go shut up the blonde. "Okay, so! We've got near half the first season ready to go, seen as you all work too hard," he smiled and spoke fondly, before directing his gaze at Mike, "we're adding your idea, by the way," Mike smiled, enjoying the soft squeeze on his hip that undoubtedly belonged to Eric. "But! We need to start off the second season and finish the first, and breaks are for loonies, and not Pythons. So!" he bit the corner of his lip, as if he expected his pipe to be there. "Anyone have anything?" he sat down on the floor, criss-cross like a kindergartner, and blinked up at the other comedians. "Episode nine, go!"

"Palin?" Jones asked, holding out his hand for the notebook. Michael blinked, too busy focusing on the hand nicely cupping his hipbone, before blushing slightly and opening his notebook to that page and passing it down to Chapman. Gray read over it, eyes excited as he chuckled softly.

"So what's the tune, then?" Gray asked, smiling.

"W- well, I wrote it on the side there, somethin' like, uh..." he cleared his throat.

"I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night an' I work all day," Michael sang, suddenly realizing Eric was singing with him and Jonesy was humming along. The three continued, "I cut down trees, I skip an' jump, I like to press wildflo'ers, I put on women's clothin', and hang around in bars," Idle burst out laughing again, and Mike smiled fondly as he allowed himself a little laugh. Cleese and both Terries snickered as Graham grinned hugely.

"It's great! Where'd you want to put it?" Chapman asked excitedly. Michael grinned.

"W- well you know how we still have no idea how to end the uh, Homicidal Barber Sketch?" he asked. Graham hummed in acknowledgement. "How about he sighs and says, 'well I never wanted to be a barber, I wanted to be a lumberjack!' and then the song sorta starts? You know, the scouts line up and he tears off his bloody shirt to have like... a flannel on under?" Mike offered hesitantly, relaxing when Eric squeezed his hip again and smiled.

"Better than anything I can think of, I want it in!" Eric cheered, all six of them laughing.

"Alright, alright, the Lumberjack Sketch is now in!" Gray smiled. Idle caught an idea just as Graham was about to give the notebook back. He pulled Michael's hands behind the his back, and pushed his body against him and wrapped one arm around his waist, rendering him immobile. Palin let out a yelp, so Eric shoved two fingers into Mike's mouth and pushed down on his tongue. Michael was immobilized, which was something Palin was painfully aware of.

"Gray, quick! Turn a couple pages! The Spanish Inquisition one!" Eric laughed, pinning Mike against himself, and feeling the way Michael's tongue rolled against Eric's fingers as he struggled to form words, probably something to the effect of 'trusting Eric Idle is the worst decision one can make, so help me god, do nOT TURN THAT PAGE DAMMIT' but the mischievous glint was in Gray's eyes and he read it all out, Michael squirming and panting as he tried to yell or take back his notebook, Eric laughing softly in the youngest Python's ear.

"Mmm, yes, quite clever, quite funny!" Gray grinned, passing around the notebook. Michael let out a yelp muffled by Eric's hand, and fought some more, but eventually just sighed and hung limply in Eric's arms. Strong, warm arms. Mmm, Idle's fingers felt rather nice against his tongue, calloused and slightly salty. God, Palin, this is absolutely **not** where your focus should be right now. Ten minutes. Michael spent ten minutes, -- maybe more, and they weren't even close to done, -- held tightly against Eric as Cleese read the sketch aloud, Graham getting up from the floor to read over Cleese's shoulder. Michael whimpered softly, eyes fluttering shut as the Python's laughed at the comfy cushions joke.

"'nd m' s'ffrin'," Michael moaned. Translation: End my suffering. Eric chuckled deeply, which affected Michael in truly blasphemous ways, and smiled.

"Come on, Mikey, they're loving it," Eric whispered encouragingly. Michael mumbled something that sounded a lot like 'isn't quite done,' leaning his head back into Eric. "Fine, but you better be quiet," Eric muttered, pulling his fingers out of Palin's mouth. -- Well, nearly. Mike bit gently into the knuckles and sucked Eric's fingers back to their old spot without even thinking, and the last thing on Eric's mind was fighting that. "Then I suppose I'll just let you speak when they ask how it ends," Idle sighed, smiling a little as Michael's tongue rolled affectionately around his fingers.

"Ooh, it cuts off! How does it end then, Michael?" Gray asked, completely unfazed as Mike gave Eric's fingers a final nibble as he was given permission to speak, but not move. He blushed even more than he had been, not prepared to answer.

"Uh, well, I was thinking that someone says the thing again, an- and everyone looks expectantly for the cardinals to appear, and it cuts to them running to get there and burst in, and they get there as the credits are rolling and one starts to yell out 'nobody expects the! oh, damn,' because he gets cut off by the end. I dunno, it's obviously up for workshopping, but that's like, an entire episode and I don't wanna steal that, and it clearly needs work, an- mmpf!" Michael groaned as Eric silenced him again, but he was happily aware of how heavy and nice Eric's finger felt on his tongue, aware of how tight Eric's grip was, how close together they were.

"I think it's brilliant, and we should delegate a second season episode for it so that Mikey has time to make it good enough for himself," Eric smiled at Gray. "Be a good chap, give 'im an episode. It needs little sketches in the middle, you lot can share 'em! You too, Terry," Idle was impossibly good at persuasion. Gray crossed to a flustered Michael, who was busy tasting Eric's fingers and trying to get his hands back. Not happening, Idle had a vice grip.

"Well, I suppose that we have a deal!" Gray exclaimed, holding out his hand for Mike to shake, who just glared pointedly. "Oh, right!" Graham laughed, taking the notebook from Cleesey and putting it in Mike's pocket.

"See, I told you," Eric mumbled against Michael's ear, stifling a noise when Mike sucked on his fingers in response, rolling his tongue around the digits, a little smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he felt Eric's breath get more labored. "Oh, the nice Python is being so positively mean," Eric hissed into Michael's ear, neither of them listening to the animated discussion between Jones, Cleese, and Chapman. Mike made a little noise, and Eric grinned against the side of his head. Experimentally, Idle loosened his grip on Michael, who didn't move or try to break free, and kept tasting Eric's fingers happily.

"Er... Eric..." Mike whined quietly around Idle's fingers. If nothing else, he was **incredibly **aware of how his already tight pants had gotten somehow tighter, and that he could feel Eric behind him.

"Shh, shh, relax," Eric whispered, letting go of Mike's hands and waist entirely, settling instead to just drape himself over Palin's shoulder bored and tiredly, watching with an amused smile as Graham tried to climb onto Cleesey's shoulders, -- who was having absolutely none of that, despite the little fond smile suggesting otherwise, -- and falling off, but still trying to climb back on. Jonesy was leaning on Gilliam as he laughed, the cartoonist smiling at Jones. Michael shifted himself backward further into Eric, who buried a noise in Palin's neck as he twitched his hips forward involuntarily. "Ooh, I'll get you for that, I will," the redhead threatened, humor in his voice.

"Mmm," Michael hummed, pulling off Idle's hand eventually. "Your fingers taste nice," he commented, his heart beating faster.

In this moment, this incredibly poorly timed moment, Michael Palin became very aware of the one thing he'd been desperately trying to ignore nearly the whole time he'd known the redhead, the feeling the clawed at his chest and stole all the air from his lungs whenever the elder flashed a smile or laughed, -- Michael Palin was in love with Eric Idle.

Oh, hell, why couldn't he have picked anyone else??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A true reflection of Michael's character, -- writes a sketch about the Spanish Inquisition and tortures people with pillows.


End file.
